


Of Inner Journeys

by LigeiaMaloy



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Depression, Dialogue Heavy, Friendship, Guilt, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-16 09:02:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8096104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LigeiaMaloy/pseuds/LigeiaMaloy
Summary: As long as Hanzo cannot forgive himself for his sins he is unable to accept forgiveness. He might be unaware of not being the only victim of his self-hatred but Zenyatta has a word or two to tell him. Well, maybe a few words more. Sometimes an omnic just has to do what has to be done for his friend and student, like giving Hanzo a verbal kick in the butt.(there are also some hints at McGenji but as they're tiny this isn't considered to be a ship-fic)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, this fic serves as exposition for some of my headcanons for the Shimada brothers and their conflicts. You see, Genji has become really zen, hasn't he? I wonder if he had always been like this would things have escalated between him and Hanzo the way they did? Well, overthinking this question finally led to this fic which I hope you'll enjoy despite my usual butchering of the English language (I'm sorry for that!).
> 
> (TMI: When I write Zenyatta I can't help thinking of the Emporer of China from Mulan...)
> 
> [Also on Tumblr](http://overwatchmayhem.tumblr.com/post/150690130677/of-inner-journeys)

Hanzo Shimada sought punishment not always in action and battle. There was hardly a fight he didn ’t win but in the end, every moment he focused on an enemy, every broken bone or torn flesh he brought home was nothing but a distraction he didn’t deserve. He fought to live, as he told himself, he was a wanderer, death for hire, because he wasn’t worthy of the comfort of a home, a place allowing him to rest.

He didn ’t deserve happiness and peace, not the shortest moment of calm, so whenever a day’s or night’s work was done, he did the only right thing - he separated from those threatening to become his friends and succumbed to the voices that were the loudest when the silence of loneliness engulfed him.

This was one of the darker summer nights, those with black clouds robbing the sky of its stars and the warm air so dense it could almost be cut with a sword while humidity added more weight on the shoulders of the already troubled.

The evening had been dangerously pleasant. He had been engaged in a friendly chat, answering Dr. Ziegler ’s questions about his bow and the meaning of archery in Japanese culture, a topic he enjoyed and rarely had a chance to discuss. That American bounty hunter, McCree, had joined their table and listened to their conversation, only interrupting once in a while with surprisingly smart and interested questions.

Then, there was Genji. It wasn ’t so bad a first when he only talked to McCree, exchanging jokes and banter. But then, he began to tease Hanzo, chuckling at his own remarks, nudging a grinning McCree to agree with him.

Like he used to do.

Now, however, Hanzo wasn ’t frowning at his younger brother embarrassing himself during a family dinner. Hanzo would never forget the day Genji showed up with this atrocious green hair as if it wasn’t enough he brought one of his uninvited, obnoxious friends along. There wasn’t a gleeful sparkle in youthful amber eyes, wide grins showing white teeth, nothing of these things that used to irritate him so much was there anymore.

And if they were, they were hidden behind a mask, locked away in the artificial body that had saved Genji ’s life after Hanzo had tried to kill him. Betrayed by his own brother. Treachery for treachery, and yet not the same.

Still, Genji kept pretending nothing happened instead of seeking revenge. Once more, there stood betrayal between them - in all those years Hanzo thought he didn ’t deserve to find peace through taking his own life, but after he found out Genji was alive, Genji’s blade should have ended his life, and thus his cowardice. But Genji refused.

This evening, Hanzo failed to keep a straight face when McCree offered Genji to share his meal and Genji declined, pointing out that a machine like him didn ’t need food. And he laughed about it. Laughed, while Hanzo was forced to watch and listen, while he was again shown one of the many things he had taken away from his little brother.

So he had stood up and left the table, probably making a fool of himself. Yes, he could feel their eyes following him, but it didn ’t matter. The worse they thought of him, the better.

Now, he was sitting outside on the dry grass, thirsty and still hungry but not thirsty and hungry enough. He shouldn ’t be here, where he was provided regular, good meals, a roof, a bed. He was supposed to starve, to wither away in a desert and every time the thirst was about to kill him, there should be water, not to refresh or save him, only enough to prolong his suffering.

“Can we talk, brother?”

Hanzo hadn ’t heard him coming. Genji had been born to learn the arts of the ninja and time had shaped his skills into perfection.

_ Unless you have the truth to tell me, don _ _ ’t talk to me. _

“Say what you have to say and leave.” Hanzo didn’t open his eyes. He sensed Genji’s presence as he sat down next to Hanzo, probably assuming a similar pose, legs crossed, back straight.

“It was a bit like back then, wasn’t it?” Genji began. His voice still was the same as Hanzo remembered it, but it sounded as though it was from far away and came with its own, metallic echo. Maybe it was just an effect created by the mask, maybe they had been forced to temper with Genji’s vocal chords, Hanzo didn’t know.

“You talking about archery, always the smart one, educated in the traditional ways. And then there’s me. The fool making foolish jokes for a bit of attention.” Genji chuckled while pain clenched around Hanzo’s heart. Genji shouldn’t laugh. He should yell at him, accuse him of his crimes and demand justice instead of sitting by his side and speaking as if they were having a nice conversation about the good old times.

“Sometimes, I miss our arguments, yet I’m sorry we had them,” Genji continued after a moment of silence. “I often was silly and stubborn. I was a child, not the brother you deserved. I’m sorry, Hanzo.” He sighed, the dry grass rustling as he shifted his weight. “Do you remember, when we were children? We got along so well. How often did we sit outside during summer nights like these after dinner! Brothers and best friends, sitting side by side and talking until bedtime. Hanzo, I wish it was like this again. Well, maybe without bedtime.” Genji laughed, and to Hanzo’s horror, he put a hand on his shoulder. This cool, metallic hand, a piece of perfect craftsmanship but never really human. Ever again.

“Enough of this!” Hanzo brushed the hand away. “It will never be like this again, Genji. You can’t sit here as my friend and brother. These times are not meant to return. I don’t belong in my world, and you don’t belong in mine. The sooner you understand, the better.”

“Hanzo, I…”

“Leave!”

And finally, Genji stood up. He didn ’t bother to mask his steps with silence, and every single one of them was another sting of pain piercing through Hanzo’s mind and heart. Good.

He remembered their childhood in vibrant colors. He felt like an intruder spying on two innocent kids when the pictures of those nights welled up. How often had he thought of these times he couldn ’t count. As a young adult, these memories had irritated him as he was unable to understand what had happened to the little brother who used to love and admire him. Now that he knew he wasn’t only unable but also refused to understand him, he welcomed them as another torturer. But it was impossible to open himself to the pain they inflicted to his soul when Genji regarded them with the warmth of nostalgia instead of anger?

By the time Hanzo stood up, his legs ached and his back was stiff and his heart was heavy with the hatred he inflicted on himself where Genji refused.

More than an hour had passed and first drops of rain were falling. Thunder rolled in the distance, the sky flickered behind the mountains where occasional lighting cut through the darkness. Their base would be in the center of the storm soon. Hanzo considered sitting down again and waiting until it was over.

“I’m pleased to find you here, Hanzo.”

Hanzo jumped around, fearing for a moment Genji had returned. But instead of his brother, the team ’s omnic, Zenyatta, was standing in front of him. It was a weird sight, Hanzo usually saw Zenyatta during fights and the omnic rarely walked on his feet then. Of course, hovering through the air would be impractical inside a building and that Hanzo couldn’t remember how Zenyatta navigated through corridors and rooms was his own fault. When he wasn’t too absorbed in his own thoughts to pay attention to the world around him he avoided Zenyatta, who was often in the company of Genji.

“You should go inside. Rain is on its way.” The calm aura surrounding the omnic was off-putting but Hanzo didn’t wish to be rude.

“My form isn’t bothered by the rain and I welcome it for the sake of all things growing. I dare to admit, however, the being inside this body prefers the outsides while dry, if given the choice. Hanzo, walk with me, let’s enjoy the moments before the storm while it’s still calm.” Zenyatta ended his little speech with an amused laugh, waving Hanzo to follow him. After being exposed to only the voices in his head, Hanzo was overwhelmed by Zenyatta’s flow of words. He nodded, grateful for the few moments of silence between them as they walked away from the base and deeper into the darkness. He didn’t believe in coincidences, Zenyatta didn’t just happen to meet him outside.

“Are you prepared to listen, friend, or do you require more time?”

“I’m fine.” _We aren_ _’t friends. You of all… people… should know why we can never be._ Hopefully, Zenyatta would be quick with what he had to say. It was too tempting to fall for the comfort his voice offered, something he could never accept coming from the closest friend, the savior of his brother.

“Genji is speaking with the truth of his heart and soul when he says he forgives you, Hanzo.”

“I know.” _Which makes it worse. If he said it in jest he would be cruel and cruelty is what I deserve._

“I remember the day our paths crossed. He was so bitter, so full of rage and contempt.” Zenyatta sighed at the memory, shaking his head. “Yes, for you, but also for himself. I feared for him many days but the first steps of a journey are always the hardest. Now, there is only one door left for him to go through to find his place. Unfortunately, it is not in my or his power to open it.”

“It would be wise to choose another door, then. Why are we talking about him? Did he send you?”

“He made his choice and no, he didn’t send me. It is both the worry of a teacher and the selfishness of a friend that brought me here. I need your help, Hanzo. I’m losing him.”

“You’re… losing him? How? I thought he is such an excellent student.” He didn’t like how he sounded. Hanzo still wasn’t sure if Genji’s survival was a blessing or a curse. In any case, there was no doubt Genji was alive, and Zenyatta had been there when he needed him. But the glimpse of happiness was overshadowed by gnawing jealousy. Genji had found a friend, brother, and father in this omnic, the family Hanzo should have been but couldn’t have given him even if Genji had asked him to. And here he was, soiling the last splinter of his dignity with sarcasm instead of showing his gratitude.

“That he is. So excellent that I’m not in fear of ever losing my student. But Genji. Let me explain.” Raising his hand, Zenyatta stopped Hanzo before he could interrupt him. “He told me about his life. How you and he grew up and apart. How he lived and loved, how he devoured the pleasures and passions of being alive. As a human. When we met, his true peril was the fear he had lost the human, that he had no connection to who he was after what he had become. He was afraid of the soulless machine he thought he had changed into. A mindset difficult to undo but I promised him and myself I would help him to find himself, as it never is the form that defines us.” Zenyatta looked at Hanzo but all he received was silence. “Do you know he can eat?”

“What?” Such an absurd, simple thing, yet it had the power to surprise him like a bullet hitting his chest.

“He doesn’t need to, but he can. Instead of digestion, his body transforms food into energy. His sense of taste is intact. He doesn’t depend on it. When his body was created, the ability to eat was saved for only one reason: Enjoyment.”

“I haven’t seen him eat once in… seven months.” Seven months already since he had joined Overwatch. How quickly time passed. So much time, and yet he didn’t even know what Genji’s new body allowed him to do and what not. He had never asked.

“That is true. Also, I observed a growing fondness between him and Jesse. I encouraged him to act on it, to indulge in the happiness the affection and tenderness between two individuals can bring. He assured me he has no need for the mundane anymore to find happiness.”

“That… doesn’t sound like Genji, that sounds like a… well…”

“A monk. Yes. He is aware. He is becoming what he isn’t, rejecting the one he was, all while demanding more from himself than a Shambali ever would. We are taught to value a simple life as if it was rich. We aren’t taught to give up enjoyments and pleasures that make us whole. As long as they don’t cause harm, of course. I told him, but for the first time in years, he refuses to listen.” There was a sense of amusement while he spoke of the ways of the Shambali but it died away as he ended with another sigh.

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“He doesn’t do this for me, Hanzo Shimada. Or the Shambali. My goal was to show him the error of his ways, to take him by the hand and accompany him on his journey, to unite the one he is with the one he was. But now he has declared who he was to be the error. I’m afraid I realized it too late and instead of being my best student he is turning into the perfect student.”

“I… what do I have to do with this?” The answer was taking shape in his head but until he heard it he refused to acknowledge it.

“In his own words, he was a playboy. A young man without discipline, responsibility or respect. A human being indulging in fun, who brought shame to his family and found pleasure in doing so. A weak character beyond redemption who became the fuel to turn the embers in the heart of his brother into a raging fire.”

“That… you’re speaking nonsense!” _No, he doesn_ _’t! And I’m a foolish coward when I believe he does._ “You do know the end of the story, don’t you? Have you seen his face? What I have done to him? I was the one guiding the blade that night! I didn’t just try to kill him. I _slaughtered_ him! There is no reason, no justification. I was the one who became a monster. You cannot expect me to forget about this. ” He didn’t look at Zenyatta as he was shouting into the night. His chest was in pain; yet, he felt strange. The weight that had been pressing against his chest for so many years was becoming lighter, breathing was easier.

“How far does he have to go, Hanzo?” Zenyatta was unfazed as he talked over Hanzo. He was neither cold nor angry, his voice was gentle and filled with genuine concern, but also of a firmness promising he intended to keep the lead of the conversation. “If you allowed yourself to feel kindness instead of bitterness and despair for only one moment, please, share your demands with me. I ask you as his friend. How much longer does he have to stumble around in darkness? What does he have to do for you to accept his forgiveness? To accept him?”

Hanzo froze on the spot. They had walked in a circle, the entrance of the base was only a few minutes away. Illuminates windows were inviting them to come inside before the approaching storm would fall over them.

“Ah, we’re home! Isn’t it nice how a bit of light and friendliness turn the strangest places into a home? I admit, the company of our own thoughts can be wonderful, but only if they provide us guidance to move on, instead of chasing us in circles. May yours become your friends soon.” Zenyatta put a hand on Hanzo’s back in a gesture of comfort and proceeded to go inside.

Hanzo watched him walk away, unable to move a muscle. He was captured by the turmoil in his mind, were the mass of his thoughts had split into rage and reason for the first time in years, now battling like two dragons, determined to never let the other one win. How dared Zenyatta to talk like this, luring him into a deeper level of guilt where his deserved punishment was making Genji the victim! Genji, who had fought for years to come to terms with what he had become and had been, who had chosen to be noble and forgive only to find it was all in vain because Hanzo refused to accept forgiveness. Just like … old times. When the approach Genji had chosen didn’t matter as the core had always been foolish. Finally, he had met the ultimate rejection, the rejection of his right to live because of who he was.

“Zenyatta!” He hastened after the omnic, catching up with him at the door. “There’s something I need to know.”

*

A week had passed and Hanzo still hadn ’t talked to Genji. He didn’t have much to say, maybe it would take years for him to find the right words to understand was going on in his head, and another decade until he was able to explain it to Genji. For the few words he needed to say now he only needed a minute or two but apparently, fate had cursed him.

During missions wasn ’t the right time, during the meals not the right place. In between, he never found Genji alone. Zenyatta refused to make things easier for him; McCree, who he had learned to respect as a smart, instinct-driven schemer, kept missing subtle hints of being in the way. Maybe, if Hanzo had shown more patience, he would have had a chance to talk to Genji alone. Patience was a virtue, however, he feared he’d come across as a stalker. The last thing he wanted was to spark distrust in his brother.

Yesterday, he had almost been lucky. He had run into Genji after dinner, an unexpected encounter as he was convinced Genji would spend the evening either in Zenyatta ’s or McCree’s company. He was too flustered by surprise to speak for one short moment, yet it had been too long. The door to the doctor’s office opened and Dr. Ziegler appeared, reminding Genji of an appointment or of he wished to reschedule. Hanzo had just nodded and walked past Genji without uttering one single word.

This morning didn ’t start well for him either. He had overslept and woken up with a headache. A look into the mirror revealed even a shower didn’t wash the weariness from his face. His tired eyes were framed by dark shadows, the lines on his forehead had deepened over the last months from wearing a constant frown. He tried to smile but even failed at faking it. For the first time in a life shaped by discipline and rules, he was tempted to shove all duties aside and just crawl back into his bed. The only thing keeping him from it was Zenyatta. That omnic sure could talk but instead overwhelming him, the torrent of words had wound itself into his head and wrapped around his mind.

There was too much truth for him to handle along with the vivid memories of his own. He sensed if he allowed the new thoughts to mingle with the old it would be the first step towards what he had denied himself for years: Healing. Also, if he opened the gates of his refusal to heal, he would go insane. The dose made the poison.

Today, with his aching head, he felt more like shutting everything and everyone out for good. It was fitting he would finally meet Genji alone.

“You don’t look well, brother. I have left Dr. Ziegler’s office a minute ago, she should still be there if you wish to see her.” There was concern in Genji’s voice, but also a careful distance that hurt Hanzo more than expected. No, he hadn’t expected it to hurt at all. It had been what he wanted, distance between him and his brother, to protect both of them from the past. Or so he had thought.

“Yes, that would be reasonable. Genji!” He snapped the last word, twitching as much as the sharp sound as Genji. “The doctor. She is, well. She still helps you and she is nice. Isn’t that so?”

“Uh, well. Yes. I think so. She is doing her job with passion.” Genji took a wary step towards Hanzo, his head slightly tilted. Hanzo inhaled deeply. This was so much like his brother, the skeptical way to pull his shoulders back, the hands fidgeting by his side when he sensed something was up. But also the curiosity and even with the mask, Hanzo thought he could see excitement and hope in Genji’s eyes, the indestructible hope that despite everything, things were going to end well. Hanzo swallowed against the knot in his throat. The last time Genji had looked at him like this was the night when…

“McCree. What about him? He as well shows kindness towards you.” This was foolish. What was he trying to do here? Trying to talk with his brother about his friends, hinting at romance even. He had missed the opportunity to be a caring brother many years ago.

“Jesse? I… yeah. He is, sure. Hanzo, something is wrong. Is there something I can do for you?”

“No! I mean,” Hanzo cleared his throat. “There is no reason to be worried. You were right, I have to talk to Dr. Ziegler about a headache. I meet you and the others later.”

“Yes. Sorry for keeping you.”

“Genji. Wait.” Hanzo grabbed Genji by his shoulder before his brother could go away. He had once been a coward, when he refused to question the ways of his clan, when he was too afraid of what he had to face if he refused the path he had been taught to walk. He had still a long way ahead of him until he found forgiveness in himself and he wouldn’t go anywhere if he kept shying away from the first steps.

“Here.” Hanzo reached into the folds of his clothes and pulled out a small box wrapped into brown paper and shoved it against Genji’s chest. “From what I have heard you have still use for it. I have to go. Enjoy your breakfast.” His gaze glued to the floor, Hanzo hurried down the corridor and around the corner to quickly find refuge in Dr. Ziegler’s office. He didn’t protest when she, worried about his flushed face and quick breathing, insisted on a check-up. The longer she kept him away from Genji, Zenyatta and everyone else the better.

*

Meanwhile, Genji was still standing in the middle of the corridor, his hand closed around the small package. Which, whatever it might contain, wasn ’t half as ominous as Hanzo’s behavior. After his last attempt to talk to his brother, he had been considering to stay away from Hanzo, at least for now. He was trying his hardest to break through Hanzo’s shell, to find the brother he had lost to the clan, but with every impact, he felt himself breaking more apart. And it still wasn’t enough. No matter how hard he tried, there was always something left of the immature fool he was to be. He wouldn’t give up, there was more to learn from Zenyatta, he only had to work harder and one day, he would have shed all failure. Once he was free of failure, Hanzo would realize that everything that happened had been for the best, there was no reason to feel guilty over the past.

And suddenly, Hanzo appeared out of nowhere when he, the principle of manners and punctuality, was supposed to be into the canteen with the others. Or rather, a stranger taking the shape of his brother. If Hanzo had changed into an alien in front of his eyes, Genji would have been less surprised as by his brother ’s behavior.

He looked at the package in his hand, clueless what it could be. It wasn ’t exactly wrapped like a gift but that was what it was, right? There wasn’t a reason for Hanzo to provide him with anything, yet he had given it to him, which was usually, in a narrower and wider sense, characteristic for a gift.

Well, he would never find out what this was about while standing around like an idiot, doing nothing with it.

He ripped the neatly folded paper open, freeing the box.

“Fuck…” His hands were shaking, dizziness clouded his mind and forced his back against the nearest wall. His knees were giving in. He didn’t fight sliding to the floor. Sitting on the cold tiles, he was still staring at the item. He swallowed hard a few times but it was in vain. With trembling fingers, his free hand removed the mask and he dried his face with his arm. Dammit, he had forgotten he was wearing armor. Maybe Zenyatta was right when he suggested he should wear a normal shirt. He laughed. At himself, at Hanzo, that he was seriously considering clothes after strictly dismissing the thought as needless vanity.

Boots were approaching, walking at first, rushing once they came around the corner. Genji registered them but failed to act.

“Whoa, shorty! What happened?” McCree, of all people, was kneeling down in front of him, his hand reaching for Genji’s face. “Damn… First time seeing your face and you’re crying. Ain’t I lucky.” He wiped a tear from the scarred face.

Genji raised his gaze, meeting McCree ’s uncertain smile. His eyes, framed by lines of sarcasm and humor, showed more affectionate worry than Genji felt he was able to handle.

“Guess that’s as romantic as it gets. What’s wrong? Did someone die?” His hand twitched back when Genji burst with laughter.

“Nobody has died, Jesse. Nobody. Not yet.” Taking a deep breath to fight down another chuckle, he held up the small box of green hair dye.

  
  


  



End file.
